


Impatience

by Marty (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Marty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's been staying at your place for two weeks now. You love spending time with him, of course, but...</p><p>Let's just say you'd be about ready to send him home if you weren't so ready to give him exactly what he's after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impatience

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://legendarydeathclaw.tumblr.com/post/46713150705/somebody-literally-said-there-are-no-fics-where)

Spending the vast majority of the summer with John varies between being really great and really terrible.

Really great because John's your best friend and your boyfriend and there's nothing better than just spending time together even if neither of you talk. That's your favorite thing about your relationship with him.

Really terrible, on the other hand, because you don't have air conditioning.

That, in itself, isn't a problem, of course. You grew up in an apartment without air conditioning, and that was in Texas. You're used to the heat.

It's a problem because John tends to dress for the weather.

You've shrugged it off for the most part. Shoved him off of you when he starts rubbing his ass all over you in those stupid shorts that leave very little to the imagination. Tickling him when his shirt rides up so you can focus your attention on him laughing and not on his cute tummy.

It gets hard to ignore, though, because the more you try to ignore all of it, the more insistent he gets.

After he's spent two weeks at your apartment, he starts getting serious about wanting to have sex. You think he's getting serious, anyway. Either that or he finds the house way warmer than you do—but you'd be more willing to bet on the first option.

He stops wearing shirts altogether, and you'd be hard pressed to actually refer to his shorts as _pants_ , because you can basically see his whole ass. And his balls. _And_ his dick. Very clearly outlined through the fabric. It's driving you up the wall.

He knows it is, too, because he makes sure that you're watching every time he bends over.

You'd be ready to go home if you weren't so ready to give him exactly what he wants from you.

He comes back from work one evening, looking a little exhausted but yanking his shirt off over his head as soon as he's in the door. When he's got his shoes off, he pulls his work pants off, too, then tosses both pieces of clothing into the laundry room and heads to your bedroom to get something else on.

When John returns to the living room, he's wearing exactly what you expect him to be, so you offer your lap as a spot for him to sit.

"Oh, you want me to sit on your lap? I dunno, Dave," he says, "would we have to talk about the first thing that pops up?" He giggles at himself, as if that ever was even a good joke.

You tell him, "yes," anyway, because you know damn well that he wants you to.

John settles himself into your lap, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek and hugging you tight despite the fact that the apartment is apparently 'too hot' for him to wear clothes. You hold him, too, regardless of what he's said, because you both know it wasn't ever true in the first place.

He lets out a little squeak when you touch his chest, then laughs.

"So much for taking it slow."

"So much for _letting me_ take it slow." You pinch one of his nipples, being a little experimental about it.

"I can't help it," he moans, burying his face in your neck. "I just wanna fuck, okay? It's not my fault, I need cock, it's a basic requirement of my existence."

"Oh my God, don't be so gross about it."

"What's gross about saying I need cock?"

"You just sound like such a little slut."

"And?" He laughs playfully, pressing his hands against your chest through your shirt. "What am I supposed to say?"

"I dunno," you tell him, because you've never honestly heard sexy dirty talking. "Don't say anything, just kiss me."

You're thankful when he listens without tossing another witty remark at you.

Without missing a beat, though, he's grinding his ass down against your cock through your pants. He spreads his legs wide enough that you're starting to wonder if he can suck his own cock—he's so goddamn flexible it'd be almost gross if he didn't make it look so attractive.

"Am I allowed to say anything now?" He breathes against your lips when you break the kiss for air. "Or are you still being mean to me?"

"I'm never mean," you tell him, and he gives you the most exaggerated eyeroll you've ever seen. "It depends on what you say."

"I need to talk," he tells you, wiggling his hips a little. "Like, it's a basic requirement for me to survive through sex. Talking, I mean."

"You _need_ to?"

"Yeah, you know what else I need?"

"What?"

"A fat cock stuffed up my ass." You regret asking. "I need it now, c'mon!" He tugs at the waistband of your pants, laughing the whole time. You're about a hundred and ten percent sure you're blushing like a fucking idiot just because he's saying dirty things to you.

"John!"

"Dave!" He kisses you when you make a face at him, then grumbles at you. "Fuck me."

"Okay," you breathe, leaning down and kissing his neck. You're going to actually do this. It's happening.

He gets up off your lap almost immediately, and you sit and watch him for a minute while he rushes to his room. "You'd think I never touch you or anything," you call after him as you get up to follow.

"Nah," he calls back, "you just never fuck me."

You laugh, a little embarrassed because he's right, and walk into his room. He's already undressed himself and he's hard, touching himself and just waiting for you.

"Okay, so, uh..."

"Don't tell me you've never fucked a guy..."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

He rolls his eyes at you, crawling into his bed and sticking his ass up in the air while he grabs lube off the bedside table. Watching him makes you throb in your pants. You _really_ hope you last long enough for him.

He pours more than enough lube onto his fingers, then reaches behind himself and pushes two fingers into his ass.

"Look, you just gotta finger me 'til I'm ready to take your dick," he says, starting to breathe harder as he starts to fuck himself with just his fingers. "Or, um, I'll finger myself," he whispers, "you can do it next time."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Just... watch." He turns his head so you can see his face, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth making a little dent in his lip.

"Yes. Just... watch." He turns his head so you can see his face, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth making a little dent in his lip. _Wow,_ okay.

"J-just... tell me when you're ready..."

He nods and you watch him add a third finger, then a fourth. Jesus fucking Christ, he's barely even taking time to get used to it. That's one of the hottest things you've ever seen.

You think for a second that he's going to jam his whole hand in there, but he just pulls his fingers out and calls you over to the bed. You take a few shaky steps towards him, and he groans at you because you still have your pants on—so you drop your pants and your boxers. At this point, you'll do anything he wants.

He reaches out, grabbing your dick and tugging you closer by it.

"Fucking— ow, how would you feel if I yanked on your dick?"

"I'd love it," he whispers, sounding absolutely needy. "C'mon, just fuck me already."

"Impatient," you say, trying to sound like you're being cool about this. Anything is better than being nervous. "Just..."

"Just push it in and _move_!"

"Are you sure?" You don't even need him to respond to know he is. Of course he is. He's beyond sure.

"Yeah, please! C'mon already!"

You hesitate for a moment, grabbing the lube from his side table and pouring more than enough onto your dick, moaning when he grabs you again and starts jacking you off. You probably aren't gonna last long. This is gonna be embarrassing.

"John," you moan, "I'm gonna come before I even get it in."

"No you're _not_!" He smacks your thigh, hard enough that you can see his handprint in your skin. "You come before I do and I'll kill you."

"Jesus."

"Come on."

"Yes, _sir_."

You climb onto the bed behind him, gasping when he starts to move his ass against your cock and biting your lip as you start to press into him. He's... _surprisingly_ tight. Not that you expected him to be completely _loose_ , but you're totally sure that you're not his first. In fact, you're pretty sure he couldn't count the number of dicks he's had in his ass on both hands.

"Wait," he says, squirming a little. You pull out so he can speak. Maybe he's not ready after all. "Are you clean?"

Or maybe he's just a total dick.

"You know I am, don't be an asshole!" You frown at him and practically ram your cock into his ass, making him choke and almost scream. "We got tested _together,_ John."

"I forgot," he groans, both hands searching for something to grasp. He finds one pillow, and slides it down until he's able to hump it. You watch him as he presses his face into the mattress, loving every second of what you're doing to him.

John would actually be a perfect porn star. He's so into it.

That wasn't a thought you needed to have during your first time with him, but whatever.

You grab hold of his hips, thrusting hard and fast, trying to force as many noises from him as you can because you _love_ how loud he gets. His hips move against yours, and he's angling himself exactly right so you're hitting his prostate. This is the best sex you've had in your life.

"Come on," he whimpers, "fuck me harder, please!"

You gasp, feeling like you're watching him become a whiny mess before your eyes. It's _wonderful_. Of course you obey him, being a little rougher and going as fast as you can while he whispers dirty things under his breath.

Things like, "oh, God, Dave, fuck me," and, "you're so fucking big," and, "fuck, yes, go faster, go _harder,_ " and, "fill me up, come on!"

If that's not encouraging, nothing is.

He presses back into you, then forward into the pillow beneath him, then back into you again in the perfect rhythm, meeting each one of your thrusts with one of his own. Fuck, it's perfect. _He's_ perfect.

"John," you gasp, leaning down to kiss his shoulderblade. "John, I love you."

"Dave," he whimpers in response, letting go of his pillow to reach back and take your hand in his. "I love you too."

You lean down, giving his hand a squeeze as you kiss your way down his shoulderblade, feeling his breathing get heavier as you move faster for him.

He's still talking, still begging you to fuck him harder, to go faster, to make him feel good, so you pull the pillow out from under him. He whimpers and whines about it for a moment, but realizes what you're going for _very_ quickly—your free hand wraps around his cock and squeezes, hard, and he moans loudly enough that you're pretty sure you're gonna get a noise complaint from everybody in your apartment building.

"You're beautiful," you tell him, pumping him in time with each of your thrusts. It's all you can think to say. The only words that will come out of your mouth at this point.

John gets halfway through a scoff, then cuts himself off with a loud groan. "I prefer being called _handsome_."

"Whatever," you breathe, biting down on his shoulder and squeezing his cock. His muscles tighten around you and you gasp, pulling out and thrusting back into him in what feels like a single, fluid motion.

"Dave," he groans, pressing his face harder into his mattress. "Dave, I'm gonna come, please, fuck me harder! Come on, come on!"

You gasp, moving both your hands to grab his hips _hard_ and shove yourself as deep as possible into his ass.

"Oh, fuck, John, I'm— I'm coming," you're practically yelling right in his ear but you don't care right now. Not even a little. You're a little embarrassed that you come first, but you've got both hands wrapped around his cock within seconds and you're pumping him through his orgasm.

"Dave..." He lets himself go limp beneath you and you whimper as you watch yourself let out another spurt of come onto his lower back. "That was so fucking good."

You get up on your knees, wiping your face—you drooled, that's gross—and just taking a moment to look at him. John rolls over to look at you and sits up, wiping his face, too. At least you aren't the only one who drooled. There's a bit of a wet spot on the sheet around his head, too.

"You're doing laundry," you tell him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him to your chest.

"Don't be an asshole," he mumbles against your skin. "And let me go. I don't want your gross chest hair in my mouth."

"I'd rather sleep on the couch than on these sheets."

"Just take the sheets off! Don't be stupid. Your couch is shit." He leans up and kisses your neck, then squirms out from under you, sitting in his drool puddle. "I need a shower."

"Yeah," you say, and you decide to talk about sleeping arrangements afterward. Your couch is _not_ shit. But that's an argument you'll get to have with him later. "Me too, drooly. Let's go."

"Screw you, I'm not drooly. You just fucked me so good I couldn't help it." That makes you blush like a loser. Ugh. "Come shower with me, you faggot."


End file.
